


i was made to keep your body warm

by supernope



Series: Take Me Home tour ficlets [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Frottage, M/M, RPF, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernope/pseuds/supernope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lounge is bathed in a soft white glow that flickers with movement on the television screen set into the wall. Harry can just make out Louis’ silhouette, sitting in a huddle in the corner of the sofa. As he approaches, he sees that Louis’ eyes are wide and staring, unblinking, at the screen, and there’s a mug clutched in his hands.</p><p>“Hey,” Harry murmurs. “Couldn’t sleep?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i was made to keep your body warm

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as: more plot-less tour fic, this time featuring frottage. I literally wrote this into the ao3 posting window, so please excuse (and feel free to point out) any typos.
> 
> I should not have to ask this, but PLEASE DO NOT RE-POST MY FIC ANYWHERE. If I find out that my fic has been re-posted to any site, I will report that person to the site for plagiarism, whether credit was given to me or not.

It’s just after three in the morning when Harry wakes up, partway between Atlanta and Raleigh. The bus is rumbling rhythmically beneath him and he can hear the slow, even breaths of his bandmates, and it takes him a moment to realize why he’s woken up.

He turns over in the bunk, slides a hand across the sheets. They’ve gone cold. With a small frown, Harry checks to make sure he’s got pants on, then slides out of the bunk, sets his feet on the floor as quietly as he can.

He can see a flickering light seeping through the small crack at the bottom of the door that separates the bunks from the back lounge, and he pushes the door open just wide enough to squeeze through, shuts it with a quiet snick.

The lounge is bathed in a soft white glow that flickers with movement on the television screen set into the wall. Harry can just make out Louis’ silhouette, sitting in a huddle in the corner of the sofa. As he approaches, he sees that Louis’ eyes are wide and staring, unblinking, at the screen, and there’s a mug clutched in his hands.

“Lou?”

Louis starts, contents of his mug sloshing against the rim, and turns to look up, blinks rapidly as he focuses his gaze on Harry. When he realizes who it is, he bites his lip, reaches out to set his tea down on the ledge at the back of the sofa. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Harry shakes his head as he settles onto the cushion beside Louis, curls a hand around Louis’ updrawn knee. “You didn’t. I mean, you did, but only by not being there.”

Louis’ shoulders sag and he blinks tiredly, twists his fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs. He reaches his other hand out, uses his grip on Louis to drag him close. He settles Louis across his lap, head tucked up against his shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Louis rolls his forehead against Harry’s chest, and Harry can feel his eyelashes flutter against his skin as Louis blinks rapidly. “Can’t turn my brain off.” There a pause, then Louis hums. “You smell nice.”

Louis’ lips drag against his skin as he speaks, and Harry holds his breath when he feels Louis’ fingertips trace from his bellybutton down to his top of his boxer briefs, trace along the edge of his waistband. His voice is amused when he says, “Anything in particular on your mind?”

Louis leans his head back so he can smirk at Harry. “There is now.”

Harry lets go of Louis so he can shift around to straddle him, knees pressed down into the cushions on either side of his thighs. Louis presses his palms against Harry’s chest and spreads his fingers out so he’s touching as much skin as possible, wiggles his hips a little as he looks up at Harry through his eyelashes.

The lights from the television are flickering behind Louis’ head, lighting up the wispy ends of his hair so it looks like he’s got a halo. Harry closes his hands around Louis’ hips, tugs him closer so their bodies fit together, the wing-tips of Louis’ hips slotting perfectly into the dips of Harry’s like two pieces of a puzzle.

Harry slides his hands around to grasp Louis’ bum, then shoves them up the back of Louis’ shirt and drags them over his skin, up up until he can curl his hands around the tops of Louis’ shoulders and pull him in. Their mouths line up, easy slide, borne of years of practice, though it still makes Harry’s breath catch, his heart stutter in his chest.

Louis presses in, licks into Harry’s mouth eagerly with his fingertips resting on Harry’s jaw. Louis swallows Harry’s moan when he rolls his hips down, chuckles a little. “The lads will kill us if we mess the sofa.”

Harry shrugs, digs his fingernails into Louis’ shoulders. “It’s leather, we can wipe it down after. They’ll never know.”

Harry closes his mouth over Louis’ before he can retort, slides his hands back down Louis’ back so he can grasp his hips and push him back enough to get a hand between them. Louis hums in his throat when Harry curls his fingers in the waistband of his joggers, shoves them down just far enough over his bum and down his spread thighs that he can wrap his hand around Louis, thumb over the head of his dick.

Louis scrabbles at the skin of Harry’s waist while he tries to fit his fingers under the waistband of his pants, manages to drag at the elastic until Harry lifts his hips a little and Louis can pull them down his thighs, then Louis presses back in, shuffling his knees until they hit the back of the sofa and his hips are snug against Harry’s and their cocks are pressed together, trapped between their bellies.

Louis rolls his hips down against Harry and Harry shifts up, settles his hands on Louis’ hips so he can guide him. They rut against each other with increasing urgency, the air going warm and syrupy around them, mouths pressed loosely together, too distracted to kiss properly. Harry squeezes his eyes shut, bites down on Louis’ lip when he starts to feel his orgasm sparking up his spine, urges Louis on harder and faster with his hands until Louis has to bury his face in Harry’s neck.

He can feel Louis’ arms trembling where they’re looped around his shoulders, can feel the way Louis’ movements go jerky and uncoordinated, and he gasps out a breath when Louis’ teeth clamp down on the chord of muscle in his neck as he comes, hips stuttering against Harry’s. Louis pants, damp and uneven, against Harry’s shoulder for a moment, then shifts back and fits a hand between them, wraps it around Harry’s cock, slick with come, and Harry bites off a curse, lifts his hips against Louis’ hand. It only takes one, two pulls before Harry throws his head back, spills over Louis’ knuckles.

Harry can’t suppress a full-body shudder as he comes down, lifts his head back up so he can look at Louis through hazy eyes. Louis looks pleasantly wrecked, hair matted to his forehead with sweat and eyes sparkling in the dark. He lifts a shaky hand to brush Louis’ fringe back, smiles when Louis leans into the touch.

“We should get cleaned up.”

Louis nods and shuffles backward until he can slide one knee off the sofa and stand up, comes back with a handful of napkins. They wipe themselves down, scrub at the couch cushion to make sure they haven’t left any evidence behind. When Louis straightens from where he’s been bent over the sofa, he sighs at Harry, cocks a hip.

“Can we go to bed now?”

Harry smiles, holds a hand out for the napkins. They wash their hands in the sink of the kitchenette, then Harry turns around, crouches down a little. He hears Louis hum appreciatively, then his hands are closing over Harry’s shoulders and he’s launching himself up, knees clamping around Harry’s hips. Harry fits his hands under Louis’ thighs and hitches him up a little higher on his back, pads over to the door to the bunks.

They manage to get through the door and over to Harry’s bunk with a minimal amount of noise, and Harry sets Louis down gently, waits for him to crawl into the bed before he follows. Louis fits himself immediately against Harry, fingers curled into a loose fist around the chain of Harry’s necklace and one leg slung over Harry’s hips. He looks down at his fingers while they play absently with the small cross, and Harry studies his face in the weak flashes of light from streetlamps that filter through the curtains of his small window.

He brushes a hand over Louis’ cheek, strokes his fingers through Louis’ hair. “D’you think you can sleep now?”

Louis hums, lifts his eyes to Harry’s. They’re dark and heavy-lidded, bruises beneath them evident even in the near-absence of light. “Definitely. Feel properly knackered now. You’re a brilliant sleep therapist, Harry Styles.”

Harry grins. “Maybe I should open a practice. Could be a fallback career.”

Louis splays his fingers against Harry’s skin, necklace still tangled around them. “I don’t know about that. ‘M not sure how I feel about sharing.”

“Reasonable.” Harry tugs Louis closer with his hand on Louis’ back, fingers spread wide between his shoulderblades. “I’m not sure I’d want to be shared anyway.”

Louis makes a noise of agreement, scratches lightly at the skin stretched tight over Harry’s collarbone. Harry makes a noise back, muffled and sleepy-soft, presses a kiss to Louis’ forehead. He feels Louis sigh, a gust of breath over his chest, watches his eyelids flutter and settle closed. Waits for Louis’ breathing to even out, hand going slack against his chest, before he lets himself drift off. Only a few more hours to Raleigh, two more shows till they’ve got a hotel night. He’s already thinking of more ‘sleep therapy’ methods he can try out on Louis, slips into sleep with Louis curled, warm and solid, against his chest and a smile on his face.


End file.
